


Broken Moral Compass

by EgoDominusTuus



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Black Widow - Freeform, Gratuitous Smut, Gratuitous Violence, Hedonistic, Killing the Legion, Love Triangles, M/M, NCR, Polyamorous Character, Potential polyamorous relationship, Revenge, With a Bumper Sword, broken compass, morally gray, revenge fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:59:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6613321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgoDominusTuus/pseuds/EgoDominusTuus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"People called me hedonistic, and I was okay with that. The fact was, I knew what I wanted, and I knew what felt good. A moral compass wasn't always my guideline, because mine decidedly pointed in whatever direction felt the <i>best</i>.</p><p>--</p><p>Revenge, sex, blood and death. Callista likes it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hedonistic at Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Callista decided that her story needed to be told. And damn her, but I'm okay with it. Expect gratuitous sex, violence, and a whole lot of fun.

People called me hedonistic, and I was okay with that. The fact was, I knew what I wanted, and I knew what felt good. A moral compass wasn't always my guideline, because mine decidedly pointed in whatever direction felt the _best_. I'd been happy with it for most of my life - I was a Courier in New Vegas, and it gave me the opportunity to make caps and do whatever in the Hell that I wanted aside from that.

  What I hadn't expected my moral compass to do was point me in the direction of 1000 caps to get myself shot in the head. The man in the checked suit smiled when he did it, "Truth is, the game was rigged from the start."

  He'd shot me, and I'd felt hot metal hit into my skull... and then I'd felt nothing for a while.

  But the bastard had underestimated my desire to _live_ , and my desire to find satisfaction. While in the ground, apparently my desire and need for satisfaction had kept me alive... because what I wanted, more than anything... more than everything...was revenge.

 The bastard who'd shot me in the head had made the mistake of not getting to know his target. He'd called me baby, and he'd sounded like some high roller - but he didn't understand the stakes of the game that he was playing.

 He didn't understand that I was a fucking determined bitch, and I wasn't going to let him get away with what he'd done. I'd literally come back from the dead to make sure that I got that particular bit of pleasure, and I wasn't going to leave this fucked up world until it was mine.    

  The problem with plans, are, of course... you need information to execute them. I was left with a damn robot digging me up from the ground and a string of leads that led me up and across the damn Mojave desert on what almost seemed to be a wild goose chase. More of a problem, of course, was the fact that I couldn't stay completely on task. While I had a clear vision of what I wanted (and what I wanted involved a gun and that bastard that shot me), I couldn't help my curiosity from getting the better of me, and my desire to make caps along the way to slow me down.

  After all, I'd never made my thousand from delivering my damn package.

  My trek led me to a place called Novac, (the No Vacancy sign that was half shot gave me a clue as to how creative the folks in town were), and a sniper in a giant dinosaurs mouth. Apparently, he was only willing to give me information if I helped them with a ghoul problem that they had. Now, normally, I would have just cleared the ghouls out and been done with it... but the fact of the matter was, the ghouls weren't feral. I was a lot of things - but prejudice simply wasn't one of them. And besides that, the ghouls wanted to fly a damn rocket to the moon... and the thought of getting to see a rocket take off (even if it blew up once they were in the air) was too much to pass up. I gladly helped them with their little task, and came back to the dino a few nights later... only to discover that the man that I was supposed to be reporting my success to was no longer at his station.

 Instead, another figure stood, tall and well muscled - his expression was half hidden behind sunglasses, though his stoic features told me that he wasn't someone that would take kidding lightly.

  I learned that his name was Boone, and the instant that I heard his low voice speak... I knew that he was something that I _wanted._

  I was this desire and _want_ of things that stopped me from accomplishing my goal as quickly as I'd like - and Boone was pretty much prime for the picking. I gave a small smile and leaned against the door behind me, biting my lower lip and offering to help him with his particular plight.

 Someone had taken his wife away from him, and someone needed to pay. With a tip of my imaginary hat, I told him that I'd be more than happy to help him with his troubles - I already knew who I was going to pin it on; the bitch at the front desk of the hotel had charged me 100 caps for a room, and I knew that she had a safe under her desk.

  Boone gave me his red cap to signal when I'd found the culprit, and I was only too happy to slip it atop my head, tucking my long, dark tail beneath it, and lead the woman out in front of him. In a rather satisfying spatter of blood and thicker things, he took her head clean off of her shoulders in one shot. My eyes flickered up, and I saw him standing there, his profile dark in the mouth of the dinosaur.

 I tipped the red hat to him, and he gave me a nod. With a small smirk, I checked her pockets, a scowl instantly flitting my face at the fact that my money wasn't there. I made a detour into her office, cracking open her safe with the key that I'd lifted off to her. Much to my surprise, inside I found papers detailing how she'd sent Boone's wife to the slavers.

 Much to my disdain, the bitch didn't have my money stored away.

 Still, I happily touted the papers back, and when Boone asked for proof that I'd given him the correct person, I was pleased to present the papers - otherwise, I'd have had to lie my way out of it. While I knew I could do it, I didn't want to bother.

  "What are you going to do now?" I leaned against the wall, shifting the bumper-sword that I wore on my back and giving him a small look. He'd somehow found another red hat - maybe he had a spare, so I happily kept my own. It looked damn good on me, after all.

  "I don't know. No point in staying here," my grin widened, because that was exactly what I wanted to hear.

  "You could always come with me - I'm on the lookout for revenge, after all." I leaned forward, arching a dark brow and letting my blue eyes catch the low lights surrounding us. He gave me a long look.

  "As long as we can kill some Legion bastards on the way."

  "Boone, baby, we can kill whatever you want."

  His expression was flat when he answered me, and it caused a low giggle to spill from my throat.

  "Fine then, let's go. And don't call me baby." He pushed past me,  and I made a mental note - before this was all over and done with, I'd make sure that he liked the little pet name.

 In fact, if I had my way, I’d make sure that he absolutely loved it.


	2. Moonlight and Carnality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone and Callista find themselves in a compromising position under the stars.

Boone was a stoic man, and it took more time than I wanted for him to open up to me. He was short, curt, to the point... and it was only after I'd taken out an entire group of Caesar's Legion with my Bumper Sword, laughter spilling from my chest and a damn spring to my step that he finally decided that he could open up to me. Just a little.

 He told me about the outpost that he'd worked at before, about the NCR, and what he'd done for them. He told me about the cap that he wore, the cap that I wore, and how it was a measure of what a good marksman he was.

 He told me that he never took his sunglasses off, and I made it a silent mission to make sure that I got to have them. He told me quite a bit about himself, but he wouldn't open up, not even a word, about his wife. I knew, as long as he harbored that secret close to his chest, I was going to have a bit of a time getting at him... but maybe the secret was for the best. I'd been open and honest with him about what we were doing - I was chasing a lead of a man in a checkered suit. He'd shot me, he'd told me that the game was rigged from the start.

 I'd told Boone then that I only played games that I knew I could win. I don't think that he realized that I was directing it to him just as much as I had to the situation. I knew that I could have Boone, if I really wanted him... and the more that I watched his well muscled frame work, his shoulders spill into a straight line, and his eyes draw darker with respect for the carnage that I could mete out... the more that I knew I _wanted_ him.

  It was late one night when we were making camp that I made some headway on that desire. We were both stretched out against the hard ground - we hadn't found a town to get a room from, but that was fine by me. I liked the open sky, and the stars were bright. Boone, on the other hand, looked a bit uncomfortable. It was probably my doing - we were toting more guns and junk than we should have... but I refused to leave anything behind.

  I had been a nearly endless stream of chatter all day - what was surprising was the fact that Boone didn't seem to mind. In fact, something damn close to serenity came over his face the more I spoke. He didn't talk back much, more than to nod and give out a few utterances of _yeah_ every so often, but it seemed to work for him... and it was certainly working for me. I was actually a talkative person by nature, especially when I could tell that the other person was _listening_.

 Even though he wasn't talking back, Boone was listening. Somehow, he also managed to listen for oncoming dangers in tandem with my string of words, and as soon as he pointed it out, my chatter ceased and my bumper sword was drawn. I'd flash him an anxious grin, and he'd hike one brow at me... and then we'd get to work.

  But we were sitting around an empty fire pit now, and my chatter was slowly starting to die away. I could see the way that Boone stretched his body out, letting his neck roll slightly to try to work out the kinks cramping up his shoulder muscles. I only felt a _little_ guilty about those, because my body was feeling the same strain... but I couldn't leave behind guns and armor - if I wasn't repairing my own equipment with it, I was more than willing to pawn it off to the nearest trader for a handful of caps and a warm meal in my stomach.

  Boone didn't argue with me, and the fact that he was willing to tote around a ton of junk made me want him all the more. I'd slid my pack off earlier, setting my sword carefully on the ground beside me. My head lolled to the side, and I caught the faraway look in Boone's gaze.

  "Aiming for the stars?" My voice held a lilt of a tease, and he rolled his head slowly to the side to glance at me - I could see something contained within his gaze that was deeper than I'd meant to catch a glimpse of. It brought me up just a little short, and he chuckled... but it wasn't a joyous sound.

  "Anywhere but here." His voice held the same stoic tone as usual, but there seemed to be a weight of honesty behind his words that was nearly brutal to his own presence.

   "But here's so _nice_ ," I let the last word purr out of my chest, and it actually caused him to sit up. For a moment, he said nothing - he just turned his head back up to the sky. Finally, he shrugged.

  "Hard ground, sore muscles, Legions still running around like we haven't put a dent in them. It's not the best." I thought I saw his eyes flick to me for a moment, but I couldn't be sure.

  I could be sure of the fact that Boone needed someone, just as much as I wanted him, he _needed_ someone. There was no guilt in me as I slid up, pushing myself closer to him a slow inch at a time to see if he'd back away. When he didn't, I slid behind him and let my fingers slip over the white material of his t-shirt.

  "What are you doing?" His voice held accusation and agony all in one, and he was tense beneath my digits when I flexed them against his sore muscles.

  "Look, I can't make the ground any softer than it is... but I can promise a soft bed for all the caps we're going to get turning this stuff in." I let my hands work against his stiff shoulders, and he seemed like a rock beneath me, immovable, impassable, making the massage completely pointless. "I'm working on painting the Mojave a pretty crimson with the blood of the Legionaries, but that's gonna take more than a month." I shifted my hands forward a bit, so that I could really work at the tenseness in his muscles; I didn't wield a goddamn bumper sword by having a weak grip.

  "Callista," he said my name warily, as though he was about to warn me off of touching him. I simply wasn't going to have it - even though he was tense beneath me, it was goddamn clear that he needed _some_ kind of touch. He was distant, and stoic, and solitary... and _hurting_.

  "Hey, let me fix what I can fix in the here and now. Sore muscles? You got it, Boone, baby."

  "Don't call me baby." But he didn't shift from beneath my grip, and when I slid my hands under the collar of his shirt for skin to skin contact, he tensed as though I'd burned him, but he didn't pull away.    

  He sat, impassive under my working fingers - I had to give it to him, out of everyone that I'd ever touched, men and women alike... no one had been able to sit stoic as a soldier while I was working my hands against them. If I didn't know him so well from weeks of spending time together, I would have said that he wasn't even enjoying himself.

 But I knew that if he wasn't enjoying himself, he would have told me to quit, and he probably would have pulled a gun on me if I hadn't. Instead, he was sitting there as though he was made of stone, and allowing me to work my digits into knotted muscles - he wasn't lying, and I hadn't been mistake... he really did need a massage.

 "God, when was the last time anyone worked on your shoulders, Boone?" My voice was soft, casual, and yet it held a low cadence of a purr beneath my tone. I was being suggestive, and I knew it. I could tell that he knew it, too, because he went even more rigid beneath my touch, and I could almost feel him fighting to not throw me off.

  "A while." And that was it - that was the only explaination, and I knew that the curt and abrupt way that he clearly said _this subject isn't for discussion_ with those two words was all the answer that I needed - it had been since his wife. She'd been the last one to touch him, and he wasn't going to give me any type of time or date or reference in relation to that.

 I didn't care - I wasn't going to let that stop me, because he wasn't stopping me. Instead, I leaned in, so that the soft press of my forehead was against the back of his skull, so that he could feel me there. My body shifted forward, until the press of my front was one, long line against the curve of his back.

 It was only with my body taut and tight against his own that I felt the smallest tremble quake along his spine and lilt into his voice when he spoke.

 "Callista--" And he cut himself off, as though he wasn't sure of what he wanted to say. I paused, for just a moment - I waited to give him the chance to call me off, even though every fiber of my being was telling me to _move,_ before he changed his mind.

 Maybe I was taking advantage of him, but it wasn't like he was drunk and incoherent - he was only drunk on his loss, and there was only one way to make that dissipate, there was only one way to make that disappear.

 And I was more than happy to do it. A slow, curling grin pressed across my features, and I felt my tongue come out to wet my lips. "Shh, Boone. Let me take _care_ of you."

  He didn't say anything - he was still beneath my touch, save for that small quiver. I didn't know if it was from nerves, or emotion, or anger at the fact that I was so audacious as to touch him like this. Whatever the reason, I knew that there was only one way to find out. I let my hands slide forward, along the front of his shoulders and down to the expanse of his chest - his loose white t-shirt gave no resistance to my motions.

  "Callista--" And this time, I was the one who cut him off. My lips spilled forward, hitting against the pulse at his throat; the way that it pounded beneath the kiss told me that he was far more nervous than he was letting on. The way that he jerked as though I'd hit him with a live wire told me that he wasn't prepared for my touch.

  The only thing that I could do was open my mouth and take the meat of his skin between my teeth, his pulse so thick to the taste - I bit down, just hard enough to be this side of pain... and Boone _growled_ at my touch... and suddenly, he shifted in a completely flurry of motion.

  His sunglasses had fallen away from his face, and I could see the spark of emotion in his eyes when he flipped me, so that I was suddenly pinned beneath him. He looked like some kind of caged animal, finally let loose and set upon the world - I wasn't sure what he was going to do for a moment... I wasn't sure if he was going to strangle me, or--

 Boone's lips crashed hard against mine, and his kiss was full of frustration and passion all in one, so that his teeth set against my lower lip until I tasted copper. The sensation drew a hard moan from my throat, and he devoured the cadence of its rhythm like it was the first drink of clean water he'd had in months. His hands were hungry things, roaming all along the length of my body, jerking my armor up so that his greedy digits could find the smooth expanse of my belly.

  He pulled back with a gasp, as though he were catching himself in what he was doing - I watched logic and his lofty attitude in reference to our relationship and the space he kept between us try to flood back into his eyes; he was like a wolf, trying to turn domesticated dog... and I honestly wasn't going to have any of it. My fingers stretched down between us, gripping his hip and dragging him down against the rolling motion of my pelvis. The heat of my center ground against the hard length in his pants, and I watched that careful composure try to work its way back into his gaze _shatter_.

  His mouth came down again, but this time it set against my throat, drawing hard enough against my skin that I knew he'd leave marks - a low sound drew from inside of his chest, another growl - another groan. He was an animal, and it seemed that for the first time in quite a while, Boone was allowing himself to let _go_ of the agony that he held tight in his chest, the guilt that he was completely lax to express...

  He was giving himself over to emotion, to sensation... and it was truly fucking spectacular to witness. Even more so to _experience._

  His searching fingers dove downward, sliding inside of the leather of my pants in a rough manner, instantly finding the heat pooling, liquid and ready, between my legs. He growled again, his teeth catching the pulse on my throat before his tongue came out to run a hot line from my heartbeat to the sharp angle of my collarbone. His fingers flexed, once - smooth, perfect, practiced for however long it had been since he'd done this.

  The pads pressed against the swollen bud of my arousal, and the cry that I let out was caught by his lips jerking upward and crushing his mouth against mine again. I whimpered, hard, fast, needy into the heat of his kiss, and he drank it down.

  I couldn't tell if he wanted me to keep quiet, or if he was intent on feeding at the noises that he drew out of my chest. I let out another hard whimper, and his answering touch was enough to let me know that the answer was certainly the latter. My hips flexed up against the calloused warmth of his fingers, and those pads delved deep along the smooth length of my core, finding the hot, tight entrance and sliding inside for just a moment.

  That brought another sharp cry from my chest, a whimper that made him grind hard against me, so that I could feel for a moment that it wasn't just his fingers that were eager to touch my inner heat. I wanted to pull back from his kiss, to tell him to just _fuck me_ , but Boone seemed intent on staying in charge - on finally quieting my chattering mouth, because his teeth sat hard against my lower lip again, and I could do nothing but squirm under the licentious intentions of his digits.

My hands grabbed anxiously - but I could only dig fingers into the white of his shirt, yanking hard at it in an attempt to hold on to _something_. Boone seemed contrary to that idea, and the shirt came flying off of his chest, pulling his hat with it and letting me see the way that his eyes burned, the way that he seemed completely lost to the passion that was overriding his usually cool common sense.

  For that moment, I was seeing the thing that lurked inside of him, the thing that he worked so hard to keep concealed, to keep hidden away.

  And I still had no idea as to why - but it didn't seem so important anymore to figure out what was lurking, what was the mortar to his brick wall. No - I just wanted to feel what was happening _now._

He leaned back from our hot kiss, but it was only for a moment - it was only to let our eyes connect. And I saw something flicker behind his gaze, some ghost of whatever had held him back before... but I could tell that it was too late for him. He was a man trying to avoid drowning, but he was in the middle of a roiling ocean, and the waves were sucking him under.

  He was victim to the Riptide, and I couldn't have stopped it, even if I'd wanted to.

  "Callista..." He murmured my name, once - and it sounded unlike any other time that I'd ever heard him say it. It was burning, needy, scorching along every nerve ending that I had and flaying them wide open so that I could feel his fingers between my legs rip pleasure along the full length of my skin. It was like he was touching me everywhere, and I'd never felt anything _like_ it - there was an intensity to it, a need... it wasn't just about fucking, or following the urges of your body.

  This meant something _more_ to him, and it was running across me in ways that I hadn't thought I'd feel.

  " _Fuck_." I murmured the word out, a hot curse whispered soft in the darkness, and Boone drank that down, too. His hand spilled behind my head, catching in my hair and dragging me up so that our mouths met again... and I was lost - whatever fear I suddenly had for what this _meant_ was devoured by his need, by my need, and by the rising tide that seemed intent on devouring us both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be picking this up where it left off in the next chapter. A little sexual cliff hanger for you guys!


End file.
